Reverse Epitaph
by thatoldfamiliarsting
Summary: This story will (hopefully) provide insight into the events that transpired before Yamatai as well as those that occurred on the island that not only forged Lara and Sam's friendship but also hardened Lara into who she is today. These two characters are not my intellectual property, but I will be including one original character as the story progresses.
1. Chapter 1

Reverse Epitaph

Summary

"Anything worth doing is worth doing well."

There are times when sacrifice is just the beginning.

Disclaimer: Neither Tomb Raider nor anything relating to that franchise is mine.

_**I.**_

_In perhaps their most important find of the decade, Japanese archaeologists have recovered 33 bronze mirrors from a third-century A.D. keyhole-shaped burial mound in the Yamato region in central Japan, stirring debate over a mysterious country called Yamatai and its enigmatic queen, Himiko. _

With a green Sharpie, I highlighted all the text after _Yamato region_ then cursed under my breath;

this textbook did not belong to me. Bollocks.

" I got you that laptop for reason, you know"

"I prefer written words to electronic ones." My head remained down, pretending to concentrate on the article I'd studied twice already.

"You're so old school. It's adorable."

I glanced up with a wry smile. Of the two of us, Sam had always been far more, shall we say... effervescent and this morning she was particularly bubbly. I hadn't the foggiest how she managed to exude so much chipper without caffeine. Only with multiple several-shot espressos could I pass for "civil" in the AM hours, and no one in their right mind would ever posit I had the capacity to be "bubbly"

"Do you know what day today is?"

She was standing in front of me, beaming. I leaned back and realized I'd been sitting on the edge of my much too firm seat hunched over the myriad of publications for much too long. I felt a distinct pop somewhere in my lower lumbar and with my hands arched above my head, extended the stretch.

I heard a low, impressed whistle. Sam was filming.

"You sure are flexible."

"Yes, all archaeologists are." I countered. She giggled lightly. "You still haven't answered my question though."

"Today is Tuesday, I replied blandly, "which means I have two more weeks until my dissertation is due and..."

"Oh God Lara, if I had a dollar for every time you bring up that paper, I'd be richer than my dad!"

I knew she was being playful but I couldn't tamp down the twinge of ire I fired at her briefly before closing my eyes and raking my hands through my hair.

Even without looking at her, I knew she was gravely aware of how she'd touched a nerve.

"I'm sorry. I know this stuff is your life's work and everything you've put into it and how incredibly important it is to you." Subdued, not as ebullient. "But you should take a break every now and then. Like today, for example."

When I opened my eyes, Sam was still there. Her lips held a soft smile and she gestured to the rather large yet neatly wrapped box sitting on the table. It was pink, a colour I despised, but somehow she'd happened to find a hue that wasn't simply awful. After my outburst, however, I felt awful, not to mention completely undeserving of any sort of gift from her.

"Sam," I began but she reached over, pulled off the bow, and plopped it on my head which startled me into silence.

She then began to warble horribly but purposefully off-key:

"What day is today? It's Lara's birthday- What a day for a birthday- Let's all have some cake!"

This time, I burst out laughing and she followed suite. Unfortunately, this earned us both a severe glare from the octogenarian librarian who also thought it necessary to stab the "Quiet Please" sign on her desk with a wizened old finger for good measure. At this, we both hastily attempted ( and failed) to stifle our highly disruptive giggling.

We were then asked to leave the library.

"Maybe I should just take this amazingly thoughtful present back to the store." she mused aloud while carrying the roseate package. "You were kinda harsh earlier." Her half-hidden grin belied the pseudo-indignant front she was endeavoring to maintain.

"You certainly enjoy rubbing it in."

"Just making sure you're properly chastised. Although I might be able to think up a penance of some kind." Her smirk was wicked.

"I shudder to think. Now are you going to let me open that or not? Today is my birthday, in case you forgot."

She nearly dropped the box, whipping around so fast to chide me and swat at my head. I tauntingly evaded her assault, dancing just out of her reach.

"You forgot your own birthday!" she admonished loudly, clearly trying to embarrass me. I shrugged and made a go for the package. She dodged my swipe, and then held it just above my head.

She dangled it there, obviously relishing the slight height difference between us.

I groaned. "Come on, that's not fair."

A flash of the same wicked smirk, but she did hand it to me. I peeled back the non-hideous pink paper and unearthed whatever was in there from practically a pound of bubble wrap that Sam promptly snatched from me and immediately started popping with gusto. I held the contents aloft and my voice caught in my throat. I could barely express my gratitude.

Once I finally found my voice, I feared it would break from the weight of so much emotion. "Sam, it's perfect. Thank you so much."

She had gotten me a stylish full-grain leather rucksack with one front pocket, two side pockets, and a spacious inside compartment, complete with a zipped back pocket for extra security. This alone would have been far and away one of the greatest anythings I had ever received, but the second item outstripped any others. Inside the pack was a leather journal. It was exquisitely fine-crafted from hand-tooled Italian leather dyed antique brown with a simple, single monolithic latch. On the bottom right of the cover were the letters LC and when I turned it over, I swept Sam up in a hug that shocked us both. Embossed on the back:

Illis qui obliviscuntur historia

"Those who forget history."

And I hugged her tighter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Reverse Epitaph**

_**II.**_

"We should go out tonight."

We had managed to sneak back into the library, this time opting for the second floor so as to avoid the cantankerous librarian. Sam was sprawled across one of two

Scottish tartan rockers that decorated the upstairs reading nooks. Despite the unusual-looking kilt pattern, they were exceptionally comfortable

as evidenced by her serene countenance. I sat at the single table next to where she lounged, caught up in the frenzy of notes I was scribbling in my beautiful new journal. I was vaguely aware she was staring at me.

"I'm thrilled you like my present, but you look like a crazy person right now." Tact had never been her forte.

"Let's get out of the library and actually go celebrate you turning 21. Please Lara, I'm begging you now. Please." She knew full-well I would cave and she'd get her way; the imploring nature of her request guaranteed it.

"I like the library."

My statement was simple but true nonetheless. I'd always derived far greater pleasure from tomes than people. Sam had dubbed me a "hyper-bookworm",

a title I somewhat fancied since most times it afforded me the precious solitude I held so dear. It seemed today was not going to be one of those times though.

She persisted, extolling the virtues of going clubbing and how anything the library had to offer paled in comparison. I had once spent an entire fortnight in this very library

during my freshman year, but then it occurred to me that most university students would not find that to be a rollicking good time. Indeed, Sam had not. She did, however, receive top marks for the documentary she put together for her Cinematography class about the two weeks she endured with me (_History's Idiosyncrasies: Archeology Students_). In the end, she accepted the compromise of going to one pub for one drink, provided we leave straight away. We decided this en route to the pub.

When I was not totally immersed in all things Yamatai or composing my dissertation about that specific ancient Japanese civilization, I spent my off- hours pulling pints at a local tap-house. Granted, my first new semesters involved pouring pints (and shots) for me, but the owner soon determined I was sufficient enough eye-candy that he really didn't give a fig whether or not I knew a stout from a larger since I was sure to draw a crowd regardless. Sam's only vocation had been centered around how many clubs, bars, or rooftop parties she could hit in one Saturday, so her, her money, and her ridiculously attractive friends had always been more than welcome at my night job . Nowadays, I was pouring over volumes of research, a devotion that didn't see me whiling away the evenings cleaning glassware or re-stocking Drambuie. Of course, this was the bar Sam chose and the moment we sat down, she began in earnest.

"Okay birthday girl, what can I get you?"

"Surprise me."

She bounded out of the booth and practically leapt behind the bar to procure us some libations. She returned balancing 4 pint glasses, which she presented with a flourish.

"Voilà", she said, looking supremely pleased with herself. "Two for you, two for me."

I inspected her offerings. "What exactly will we be staring off with here? Also, wasn't this supposed to be a one drink campaign?" From her obvious glee, I could tell the reveling was about to commence and it would gobs of drinks. She grinned, the full galvanic force of that dazzling smile causing me to grin back just as wide.

"Sand Dooms."

"Sand Doom" was a splendid cocktail I'd invented three summers ago, a concoction I'd mixed up after a particularly nasty and disastrous

Ancient Egyptian Theology final. Convinced I bombed the exam in spectacular fashion, I somehow convinced Sam to ditch our Applied Science class and study

the marvelous effects of alcohol instead. Back in our dorm room, Sam hooked her iPod up to the stereo system amidst me raiding the fridge and cupboards for ingredients. My search yielded Amaretto, cranberry juice, Ginger Ale, Goldschlager, and Triple Sec. She wrinkled her nose in evident disgust.

"We can always go to the store you know. It's 1 in the afternoon, so they're totally open."

Never one to duck a challenge, I would not be swayed and again, somehow convinced her I could create an elixir that was not only edible but also incredible. If not, I promised we'd go to the pub and get snackered on sake bombs, my treat. She acquiesced and "Sand Dooms" were born. Interestingly enough, that night, someone broke into my Theology professor's

office and spray-painted hieroglyphics all over his whiteboard.

"A toast! To Lara and 21 more years of adventuring!"

Sam's lively voice gently pulled me out of the reverie. I smiled at her, genuinely proud of all the absurd adventures we'd shared so far. No doubt she was too. I raised my glass which she clinked with hers, both of us looking forward to the prospect of having scads more.


	3. Chapter 3

Reverse Epitaph

_**III.**_

It was apparent once we'd finished our "Sand Dooms" that Sam had come to conquer the bar. No sooner had I drained the last of my cup that another set seemed to conjure out of thin air.

"This is soo much better than the library." she confirmed, tossing back the remainder of liquor in one neat shot.

"We're gonna get drunk, you're gonna have a good time, and then, I'm gonna film you." Her eyes were radiant and the words so alluring, I could only nod dumbly and imbibe. How many drinks had I consumed? I felt oddly light-headed. I was nowhere near a lush, but most assuredly not some pansy light-weight either. Sam, sitting directly across from me, had already drained her glass and was now reaching for mine. In one deft movement, she snatched it from my grasp, downed it, and rocketed to her feet in elation.

"I'm a booze ninja! No alcohol is safe and you're way too slow!" She crowed, brandishing the empty glass and wearing a smirk only Goldschlager could give. Sam had always been a wild-child, plus or minus intoxicants. In truth (though I would never tell her) I admired her devil-may-care attitude. She wielded her rambunctious nature just as brilliantly as she carried her camera, and at times, I yearned to be that carefree. Regrettably, however, being high-strung was coded into my DNA and pursuing a degree in Archeology had done nothing to mitigate that.

"Lara, quit undressing me with your eyes and take a shot with me." she was sitting down again, fixated on me.

I was positive at that moment my cheeks were rubicund. Then, buoyed by the "Sand's" influence, I shot her a sly grin.

"Set 'em up."

It was only after I had (poorly) performed the "Cuban Shuffle", that I realized how dangerously smashed I was.

Sam, undulating her hips in perfect sync with the pulsating rhythms, had grabbed me from behind around my waist. She pulled me close; silken hair brushed my cheek. My pulse quickened. I wanted, no _needed_, to turn around, but if I did...

"You're hopeless." she breathed into my ear, sliding her arms around my neck. Further tachycardia. From above us, the speakers began thrumming with another bass-heavy track. Behind me, Sam began to grind her lithe hips into my back and lower. Her body swelled against mine, like waves over rocks. Ebb and flow.

"I bet you'd be one hell of a dancer if you'd just loosen up." She purred into my collarbone. And then kissed it.

A systole.

'_Impetuous_.' Sam was impetuous. Idly, in the way back of my mind, my reasonable and rational self – my ego I guessed—was concerned about as to where this pub housed it's defibrillator, or if it even had one on site. It didn't matter, really, because both of us, this state, were four sheets too far gone to operate it properly and since that was the case, I would need CPR to restart my heart which meant mouth-to-mouth and Oh God Dammit.

I wasn't rational. I wasn't any semblance of reasonable and my thoughts weren't racing... they were _careening_ out of control. Sam was my best friend, undeniably the greatest friend I would ever have and because I was very, very drunk, I had to remove myself from this situation post-haste. She was the yin to my yang, cliches non-withstanding, but if I were to stay here on the dance-floor with her for one more agonizing moment...

"I have to be right back", I slurred unintelligibly. I wiggled out of her embrace, half-way stumbling towards what I decided was the side exit. She caught my hand before I could make a clean getaway and I swung around to face her.

"Lara, are you ok?" Her fingers were entwined with mine and all I could envision was my fingers entwined in her gorgeous jet-black hair.

Fuck.

"Fine. Yes." Two distinct words, neither of which were remotely true.

She didn't believe me, I could see it in her smoldering eyes. Her grip relaxed and I bolted.

Heightened senseless.

Outside, the thunderous palpitations (hadn't my heart stopped just a second ago?) overtook the pounding beats of music. My skin burned, blood threatening to boil right out of my veins, and I clenched my fists reflexively.

I didn't register pain until I noticed crimson speckled on my knuckles. The thrashing in my chest had subsided though, and I noted with some satisfaction I had goosebumps. So it was cold after all.

"That was quite the performance."

Instantly sober, I wheeled around towards the source of the unseen/unwelcome voice. From the hazy illumination of a dingy street lamp, I saw a lone flame-point flare and fade. Then, the acrid tang of smoke wafted into the night sky.

I felt the blood drip from my fist.

"Who the hell are you." It was not a question.

The cigarette bobbed forward and he was out of the shadows. A man, with dark hair and far darker eyes.

He took a pronounced drag and the cherry blazed, momentarily revealing his finer features.

"Let's just say I've always been a really big fan of your work, both on and off the dance floor."

His face split into a smooth smile that did not reflect in his eyes and something ambiguous burned deep within that cyanide stare.


End file.
